


Scream

by kamikaze43v3r



Category: Bleach
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M, Vore, autocannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamikaze43v3r/pseuds/kamikaze43v3r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a short ficlet based on my GrimmIchi fanfic Killer Instinct. this is not a sequel to it, just in the same universe and theme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scream

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Killer Instinct](https://archiveofourown.org/works/719186) by [kamikaze43v3r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamikaze43v3r/pseuds/kamikaze43v3r). 



If Ichigo could scream, he would. He would scream and scream until his lungs collapsed, his throat ate itself, his brain exploded - if he could. There was just so much pain. So much pain. He was going insane. He could feel his brain aching and dying from the pain. Why was this happening to him? The feel of the blade cutting into his skin, into his flesh, and slicing away bits of him.   
He could hear his other self screaming too. Was it screaming? Crying? Laughing? He couldn’t tell. He can’t be fucked to. God, the pain. Just make it stop. Pleasepleasepleaseplease.

After what seemed like eternity, he got his relief; a momentary black out. In the darkness of his mind he saw his bleached self, cut up, dismembered, decapitated, while he spotted the lone figure of his third, older self in the distance watching them.

His bleached self was alive, somehow. The head had its eyes open, with its black sclera and golden irises staring at him. His lips were wide open in a grotesque grin, its blue tongue slipping out to lick at the chapped, pale lips.

Ichigo had never seen anything so terrifying in his life.

'What's the matter, aibou?' it said, voice distorted like the demon it was. 'You've been fantasizing this day. Don't you remember? You were getting off to this fantasy. We were. Our cocks would get so hard it felt like we could just burst. It hurts, but it hurts so good doesn't it?'

Before Ichigo could respond, his vision blurred and he woke up, the pain throwing himself awake again. Waking up into a never ending nightmare.

"Detective," a gruff, low voice called, sounding playful, almost sinful. Ichigo weakly looked around, dizzy from loss of blood and the mind numbing pain.

It was the Sexta. Still beautiful and sharp and deadly and cold. Perfect. Entrancing cobalt blue eyes and tousled baby blue hair. Every time he saw his face, Ichigo would somehow imagine a small crown upon his temple. Like a regal panther with his angular, defined features. His thin lips had some blood on them. Ichigo’s blood. He looked even more beautiful now, if that was possible. And he’d been eating on Ichigo’s flesh as he slowly cut pieces of him earlier. The thought of it made Ichigo want to puke until his stomach turned inside out. Another part of him made his cock twitch.

Disgusting.

Ichigo’s vision was muddled with black spots again until he felt an almost gentle tapping to his cheek jerking him away. A thumb rubbed at Ichigo’s dry lips, pulling down his lower lip and Ichigo felt cold glass upon them. Was it time to drink?

It was. Ichigo gulped down the water greedily, uncaring when some spilled down his throat and on his body. He let out a sharp hiss and a strangled sob when he felt water flow over his raw flesh. It wasn’t as painful now, but it still hurt. He distantly heard the sound of his bleached self giggling again.

This time the Sexta brought a fork with some sort of raw meat to his lips. He didn’t say anything, but just nudged it to against Ichigo’s mouth. Ichigo knew what it was. He wouldn’t give in and kept his lips pressed shut, bile rising in his throat again. He ignored the increasingly loud voice in his head. Screaming at him to open his mouth and consume it.

The Sexta grew annoyed and forcefully opened Ichigo’s mouth, and shoved the meat onto his tongue. The taste of rusted iron was strong; it made him dizzy and sick. Somehow the other man made him chew and Ichigo was fighting it, fighting it, but god, for some sick reason, some demented part of him which he knew and fought against so long was enjoying this, was getting off to the taste of himself, literally.

He was eating his own flesh and he was loving it.

"Good boy," the Sexta drawled. And his bleached self preened.


End file.
